Part 15

They went out together, and Niven kicked at the first thing that lay in his way savagely. As it happened, it was one of the iron pump fastenings, and it hurt his toe, while as he hopped about the deck Appleby laughed uproariously. Then almost before he knew it Niven was laughing, too, and when they climbed down into the hold there was water in both their eyes.

"Have ye been after hearing anything funny in the cabin?" asked Donegal.

"Well," said Niven with a little chuckle, "I can't help fancying the skipper did, since you want to know. Sure, now, Donegal, 'tis a testhimonial he's been after giving you."

"Tell me," said Donegal, seizing him by the neck and nipping it while the lad struggled fruitlessly.

"It's no use. I wouldn't tell any one a word of it if you strangled me," he said.

They made sail again early nest morning, but in the forenoon the wind fell away, and it was late on the following day when they crept into sight of a grey blurr that lifted itself out of the misty horizon. They could just make out that it was land, but Jordan, who went up the mast hoops with his glasses, saw something more.

"No chance of a deal now we've got here, boys," he said. "There's a steamer coming in. She'll be heading south at this season, and it's not going to take them long to heave a few bundles of furs on board her, so if you've any letters to go along with mine you'd better be handy getting the boat over."

They had her out in about two minutes, and as it was Stickine's boat the lads who sprang down refused to come out of her. She was also the biggest boat they had, and had in all probability seldom travelled faster than she did for the first mile or so. There was scarcely a breath of wind now, and the long swell ran with them, while Niven remembered what the letter he had written would mean to those who had long waited for news of him at home as he put all his strength into the oar. Appleby also recollected the tenderness he had now and then seen in Mrs. Niven's eyes as she looked at her son, and her kindness to him, and strained every muscle, for now at least it seemed he could do a little to repay her.

So they sent the boat foaming over the long swell, but each time she rose the land seemed very little nearer, and when at last a smear of smoke rose out of the greyness that hung about it, Stickine spoke.

"The steamer's firing up! You've got to stretch out, boys."

Panting and gasping they swayed up and down, the oars thudding, and the grey sea frothing under them when the boat surged forward quivering at every stroke. Still, when the veins on Appleby's forehead felt swollen to the bursting and Appleby's eyes were dim the land was at least a mile from them, and a jarring rattle came off across the water.

"Windlass going! She'll be off soon as they heave her anchor. Stiffen up," said Stickine.

The lads did what they could, for they knew it was a good deal they were rowing for. The letter they carried would bring relief from torturing anxiety to those who loved them, and tranquillity to a mother's mind, while Niven, half-choked as he was, nerved his aching arms as he remembered how in all his follies his father had borne with him. Appleby was aiding him loyally, his lips set, his face almost purple, and still, though Stickine and Donegal made the oars creak and groan, the land was only crawling towards them.

"You've got to do it, boys! There's folks back south worrying 'bout most of us," said Stickine when the scream of a whistle came off to them.

Neither of the lads had more than a hazy recollection of the last ten minutes. They had no breath left, every joint was aching, but their arms still moved almost without their will, and they were dimly sensible of the thud of oars, gurgle of water, and lurch of the quivering boat beneath them. They felt they could not be beaten now. At last while the whistle screamed again something big and black bore down on them, and they heard the thudding of engines and the flap-flap of a slowly-turning propeller.

"Stop pulling. Hang on to her," gasped Stickine, and then while the oars rested in their palms the lads could see that the bows of a steamer hung almost over them. Next moment there was a crash, and they were being hauled along with the froth splashing about them and Donegal holding on to something desperately. A man was shouting above them, and while the foam that was piled about her bows sluiced into the boat Stickine roared out hoarsely, "Letters!"

"Give us a grip of them. Let go before she goes over with you," shouted somebody, and a man swinging himself over the rail clutched at the packet held out to him. Then Donegal loosed his grasp, and they were rocking on the white wake as the steamer went on.

"Just 'bout did it," said Stickine. "I guess it was worth a pull."

Neither of the lads said anything, for they were dazed and dripping, and had no breath to waste, but they forgot their pains in a supreme content. It had been a good race, perhaps the best they would ever make, for they knew as they watched her roll away into the mist that the letters the steamer was bearing south would lift a dark cloud from an English home.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*TREACHERY*

Here and there a streak of ripples crept across the water as they returned to the schooner, and when they stopped rowing, Jordan called to them.

"You can pull her head round before you come on board."

They pulled hard before they swung the schooner round, and when they had hoisted the boat in Stickine glanced at the skipper.

"We're going back west?" he said.

Jordan nodded. "Right now," he said. "We've lost two weeks already and the season's getting through."

They close hauled the schooner, and the lads went below when she slowly crawled away. They had questions to ask, and it was Donegal who answered them.

"And what would be the use av going on when Jordan knew the steamer had got all the skins there was?" he said. "'Tis a week this journey will be costing him, and ye will observe 'tis not sitting still and complaining that 'tis hard on him the skipper would be doing. ''Tis the best av it, we've got to make and get back at wance, or sooner,' sez he, and there's folks as don't know better call him a--fortunit--man."

Niven made a little grimace, and swung himself out of reach of the sealer's hand. "Sure 'tis a priest or a schoolmaster ye should have been," said he.

It was some time before they worked their way back to the sealing ground, and then, although the boats were out all day, they got very few skins. The holluschackie had, it seemed, all crawled out on the beaches, and the men grew gloomy as they saw the prospect of returning home with dollars to draw growing rapidly smaller, until at last one morning Stickine came forward after a talk with Jordan.

"There's just 'bout nothing to be done here, boys, and we're going west to see what we can find," he said.

There was a murmur of approval, and Appleby fancied he understood the curious expression in the men's bronzed faces, for it was Russian waters they were making for. It was, however, some time before they reached them, and then they found few seals, while the men were growing anxious again, when at last one wild evening they beat in to an anchorage under an island. Like the others the lads had seen in those misty seas it was a desolation of wet rocks and foam-licked beaches; but worn out by a week's bitter gale, they were glad when the _Champlain_ ceased her wild plunging at last and swung to her anchor on the long, smooth heave.

Nobody wasted much time in stowing the canvas, and when they sat listening to the swish of the rain and the growling of the surf in the stuffy hold, Appleby turned to Stickine.

"What have we come in here for?" he asked.

"You can't always catch seals, but you can buy them now and then when you know where to go," said Stickine. "The further it is from the market the more likely you are to get a bargain."

"Then there is somebody living here?" asked Niven.

"Sure!" said Donegal. "There's no place that forlorn a man can't somehow raise a living out av it, but the one Ned Jordan's after visiting is not what ye would considher a favourable specimen."

Charley looked up and laughed. "Meaner than a shark. There's nothing too low down for that man to do."

Donegal evidently saw the curiosity in Niven's eyes and nodded gravely. "'Tis Charley that's speaking thrue. Now, some men are bad on occasion, and ye will now and then find sailors and sealers doing things that are no credit to them by way av diversion, but they work, and that and the lashing of the bitther seas is the saving av them. Still, there's things no man may do continual."

Stickine smiled dryly. "That's quite right," he said. "The sea, and just the sea--that sets Donegal talking like one of those patent medicine books--and if we had a thousand dollars which of us wouldn't be glad to leave it? Still, I've no use for a man who goes back on his own country, and if it's solid meanness and wickedness you're wanting, you'll find them and Motter quite close together."

"He must work if he catches seals," said Niven.

Charley grinned ironically. "I guess you've found that out, but when Motter has any pelts to sell it's tolerably plain figuring he stole them. Tricked the Indians out of them--though they're not Indians on this side either--and they didn't belong to them, anyway."

"Then why don't the Russians run him out?" asked Appleby.

Stickine laughed softly. "I guess the ones who would do don't know," he said. "This is a kind of curious country."

Just then Jordan flung back the scuttle. "Get your boat over, Stickine. I'm going ashore," he said.

Stickine rose, and Montreal, who had been sitting gloomily silent, looked up. "If you've any use for me I'd like to come along," he said.

Jordan shook his head. "It 'pears to me you're better where you are," he said.

Montreal sighed, but said nothing, and in a few minutes Niven and Appleby were pulling the skipper ashore. It was raining when they stepped out on the beach, and saw for the first time a ramshackle wooden house that seemed falling to pieces beneath a dripping crag. Two great dogs growled at them as they picked their way towards it amidst a litter of fish-bones and offal that had been apparently flung out of the windows. Then somebody beat off the dogs, and when they went in a man who lay in a skin chair by the stove nodded to them. A smoky lamp hung above him, and the lads felt a curious disgust as they glanced at him. His eyes were red and bleary, though there was a blink of evil cunning in them, and his puffy cheeks overhung his chin. He seemed horribly flabby, and wore greasy canvas garments which looked as though nobody had ever washed them. Appleby realized as he watched him that loneliness is not good for a white man unless he has work to do.

"How are you, Motter?" said Jordan. "This place hasn't made you tired yet? It's kind of forlorn for a Britisher."

Appleby fancied there was a little half-scornful inflection in the skipper's voice, which was not altogether astonishing, for the building had a horrible smell, and here and there the rain dripped in, but Motter laughed.

"Well," he said, "I was an American too, and I guess I'm a Russian now. Up here it pays one better--but it's business you came after?"

Jordan nodded, and the contrast between his lean, bronzed face and steady eyes and that of the other man did not escape the lads' attention. "Got anything to sell?" he asked.

"I might have," said Motter. "Still, I'm in no way anxious, because by and by there's a steamer coming along, and I've no great use for dry talking."

He thrust a bottle towards the skipper, but Jordan shook his head. "That's a stuff I'm not used to, and I don't like the smell," he said. "Well, now, let me hear what you've got and I'll make you a bid. This place is a little too open to leave the schooner long."

Appleby fancied Motter was not pleased at this, but he helped himself freely to the liquor, and for half-an-hour he and the skipper were busy bargaining. Neither of the lads quite understood all they said, and they sat vacantly listening to the rumble of the surf, until at last Motter raised his hand.

"Well," he said with a curious little laugh that jarred upon the lads unpleasantly, "you're too keen for me, and it will save worry if I let you have the skins. I want one hundred dollars down for the bundle I've got here, and you can take them with you or leave them until you come back again. The rest are lying at Peter's Bay, but I'll be there to hand them over or send one of my people along the beach, and across by the skin boat. It's going to take you some time to get there with the wind ahead."

"It's a deal," said Jordan, counting out the dollar bills. "We should fetch the beach by to-morrow evening. You haven't seen any gunboat round here lately?"

"No, sir," said Motter. "There's none nearer than Peter Paul, and I'm going to be a richer man if they'll keep away. By the way, I heard they had a Canadian at the sealing post."

"Are you sure of that?" asked Jordan. "What would he be doing there?"

Motter fumbled at his glass. "Well, I don't quite know," he said. "Still, I scarcely figure he was there because he liked it. Anyway, the folks could tell you more about him at Peter's Bay."

Somebody was waving a lantern on the schooner and the roar of the surf had grown louder when they returned to the beach, while it was with difficulty the lads got the boat afloat. Jordan did not seem pleased at something, and bade them pull their hardest, for the wind had gone round and the sea was working in.

"It's kind of unfortunate Motter didn't remember he'd lost his store key before he got my dollars," he said reflectively. "Still, it's no great risk, because he knows we could pull the place down for him when we come back."

The schooner was plunging viciously when they reached her, and while they swung the boat in Jordan said, "Get the trysail and foresail on her, and we'll let her lie to when we're round the head." Then he signed to Appleby. "You'll not tell them anything about that Canadian."

They beat out of the bay they had only a few hours earlier beaten into, and, for the sun was going back to the south now, it was quite dark when on the next night they crept into an inlet hemmed in by smoking reefs. The wind was fresh and astern of them, but when they brought the schooner to off the first of the reefs Jordan stopped Stickine who was about to lower her forward sails.

"It's not going to take us long to bring off a boatload of skins, and you'll keep the canvas on her," he said. "I've no use for taking chances with a man like Motter."

Appleby, of course, understood that as there was evidently a seal rookery not far away it would be perilous for Jordan to be discovered within Russian limits, but he could not see how he would run any risk since there was no gun-boat in the vicinity. He had seen that Jordan could be daring, but he fancied he was almost needlessly cautious when, although only one was wanted for the skins, he had two boats swung out. He also sent back Montreal, who would have gone in one of them, and bade the men bring their sealing-clubs with them, which seemed curious, since if they fell in with any Russians, it would be a proof that they were prepared to kill seals ashore.

It was dark save for the light of a half-moon when they started, and when they landed with difficulty through the smoking surf the beach was wrapped in shadow. Here and there a boat of some kind was drawn up, but nobody could see them clearly, and the only light was the blink from the windows of a tottering wooden house.

"You lads will come with me," said Jordan. "Donegal and Charley too. The rest of you will stand by the boats and keep your eyes open."

Then they turned towards the house, and when Appleby afterwards recalled that night he could remember the pungent smell of the weed, and the curious shrinking he felt when he set his foot on a fish head or some of the slimy offal that lay everywhere around. He could just see the schooner, flitting a dim shape across the long heave that rolled into the bay and frothed upon the roaring beaches. It was some minutes before they reached the house, which seemed horribly damp and foul, and found Motter sitting at a table. His eyes had, Appleby fancied, a little cunning gleam, and his hand seemed to tremble slightly.

"Excuse me coming down to meet you. This place is rough on one's legs," he said. "Well, you have come to put the deal through and brought the dollars?"

"Yes," said Jordan. "As I'm anxious to be off I want it done right now."

"That will suit me," said Motter. "If you don't want to be sociable you can come along and count the skins."

He limped before them into an adjoining room, which was littered with bundled furs, and Appleby noticed that while these were no doubt of value, and there was a shutter to the window, it was not closed. Motter also turned the lamp up a little, though it was apparently burning well, when he set it on a table. Then Jordan opened several bundles of the furs, and when the two other men took up a load Motter laughed a little as he said, "Haven't you forgot the dollars?"

Jordan looked at him steadily. "You'll get them all right when we're through. This lot 'bout squares up the others I didn't get from you."

Motter smiled again. "Well," he said dryly, "a man would have to get up tolerably early if he wanted to come in ahead of you."

Then Donegal and Charley went back to the boat with their bundles, and Motter sat down watching Jordan sort out and count the furs.

"Quite sure you've got them all?" he said ironically when the skipper stopped at last. "Then we'll go back to the stove. It's kind of shivery here."

"Shall I bring the lamp along?" asked Jordan.

"Leave it there. We've another in the room," said Motter, and fumbled about some time striking a good many matches before he lighted it, while Appleby became sensible of a curious uneasiness as he watched him. There was no apparent reason for this, but he fancied the man could have been quicker had he wanted. At last the lamp was lighted, and Motter sat down at the table with his face towards the door.

"You've seen the furs are there?" he said.

Jordan took out his wallet, and laid a roll of dollar bills on the table. He had another in his hand when Donegal stood in the doorway signing to him.

"You're wanted out here," he said.

Jordan asked no questions but rose at once, and Appleby, fancying there had been a change of wind, followed him. When they stood outside Donegal laid his hand on the skipper's arm, and Appleby saw that he and Charley both carried their clubs.

"'Tis a trap the beast has laid for us. Will I tell them to shove off?" he said.

"Go on," said Jordan quietly.

"'Tis like this," said Donegal. "When he went in with the light he opened the shutter, and what was he after doing that for? Then he would leave it so any wan could see there was two lights where there was wan before."

Jordan nodded. "The rest--out with it."

"Well," said Charley dryly, "there was somebody running a boat down way back along the beach. They did it kind of quietly, but we could hear them. 'Pears to me it's 'bout time we were getting out of this."

"Somebody coming down the gully," shouted a man below, and there was a faint patter of running feet in a dusky hollow that wound amidst the rocks behind the house.

Jordan swung round. "Motter has sold us to the Russians, boys," he said. "Still, if there's time yet we'll take him along."

They were back in the room the next moment, but Motter had gone, and when another shout came from outside Jordan swung round again with his face showing very grim.

"He'd have had all my dollars in another minute," he said. "Well, we'll be going."

Charley, however, stopped a moment, and taking down the big lamp swung it round his head, while a great blaze sprang up when he hurled it on the floor.

"I guess it will take them all they know to put that out," he said.

Then they blundered down the stairway, and in another moment were floundering across the beach. It was rough and strewn with boulders, while the boats lay some little distance away, and as they tripped and stumbled a hoarse shout rose out of the darkness. Nobody stopped to answer, and a rifle flashed, while a patter of feet became audible behind them.

"They're tolerably close," said Jordan. "We've got to run, boys."

There was for some reason no more firing, but the men behind were evidently used to the boulders and gaining on them. Once Appleby fell heavily, but he lost no time in picking himself up again, and went on with a horrible pain in his side, gasping as he watched the white wash of the surf that seemed to grow nearer so slowly. Just before they reached it Niven went down, and groaned when Appleby seized his shoulder and jerked him to his feet.

"Don't give in, Chriss. You must hold out," he said, and floundered on again, dragging his comrade after him.

"I'm hurt. Only one foot to run with," gasped Niven.

Stumbling and blundering they reached the boats, but the men behind were almost upon them when Appleby, taking his hand from Niven's arm, grasped the nearest. Then there was a breathless shout, and they were floundering down the beach waist-deep in froth as a sea rolled in, while dusky objects came clattering over the shingle a few paces behind them. Two men sprang in over the gunwale, and Jordan's voice rose up.

"Don't fool it by too much hurry, boys. Wade right in until she's clear afloat."

The next sea took them up to the shoulders, and Appleby, gasping with the icy cold, and half-blinded by the spray, saw that Niven was no longer with them.

"Chriss. Hallo! Where are you?" he shouted breathlessly.

He fancied a half-stifled cry answered him, and loosed his grasp on the boat. He did not remember whether he shouted again, or not, for he was only sensible that his comrade had been left behind, but next moment another shout rang out, and he felt his heart throb, as struggling shorewards he recognized the voice.

"Boys, will ye be leaving Mainsail Haul?" it said.

There was a growl in answer, and the boat came surging in almost on top of Appleby. Then men were apparently splashing through the water all about him, and one ran several yards in front of them howling gleefully and swinging a great club. After that Appleby was not quite sure what happened, but there were shouts and blows and a pistol shot, and they were floundering back again, Donegal dragging Niven through the water after him, and most of the men swinging their clubs. The boat lay half-swamped on her side when they reached her, and Appleby wondered afterwards how they got her through the surf, but he knew Niven lay on the floorings, and straining every muscle and sinew he tugged at his oar. Donegal was apparently yelling gleefully still. Then, as they drew out from the shore there was another red flash, and Jordan's voice rose up from the next boat.

"If he can't be quiet, boys, you'd better heave him over. I've no use for letting them know just where to shoot."

"That's sense," said Charley. "Reach out and put some weight on, Appleby. Your partner's all right."

Appleby did as he was bidden, though the spray that whirled about them rendered the boat almost invisible as she lurched over the swell, while his contentment increased when Niven assured him that it was only his foot, that was hurting him. Presently the _Champlain_ ran past the boat with canvas banging, and while they hove her in Stickine drew the skipper towards the rail.

"There's a boat on our bow. Came off 'bout a mile back down the beach," he said. "They pull like white men, so far as I make out."